


bouquets

by Pomfry



Series: Fics for Friends [12]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, M/M, lots of yellow idk why, old men flirting in front of horrified son, this is an actual bouquet btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 19:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19892932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pomfry/pseuds/Pomfry
Summary: "How do you spell fuck you in flower?""I would start with Wild Tansy."





	bouquets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VirusZeref](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VirusZeref/gifts).



> I got the bouquet from here thank them
> 
> https://thursdayplaid.tumblr.com/post/147191071477/how-do-you-say-fuck-you-and-everything-you-stand/amp

The day has been relatively slow, all things considered. A businessman came in at noon looking for some flowers for his irate wife, or so he said. Shikaku knew by the smudge of lipstick on his neck that his collar failed to completely hide that it was more for his mistress, which is really in poor taste. He didn’t say anything, though, and merely pointed him to the big, blooming roses that were in a large pot outside. The man had thanked him, asked for some help, and Shikaku had sent Ino to do so. Ino had charmed him into rethinking his life choices and then he left with the roses for his wife, who is heartbroken over one thing or another. Fifteen minutes once he left, a bubbly girl in a pastel blue dress dragged in a gloomy girl who wore a dark purple beanie and a skull shirt and asked for their prettiest flowers. The gloomy girl had protested, cheeks turning pink as she sputtered, but Shikaku had merely smiled down at the both of them and had Shikamaru take over. His son is ruthlessly logical and picked out the flowers that the gloomy girl would find the most beautiful, and once the flowers were picked and paid for, the bubbly girl—who, Shikaku had gathered, was named Kichi—shoved the flowers into her companion’s hands and then dragged her out the way they came.

Shikaku then had taken a nap leaving Inoichi to man the register for the next hour, then took over once again. Business was slow, with only about fifteen sales, but their prices were appropriately matched with the quality of the plants they offered, and so the dip in sales didn’t affect their logistics for the month. Shikaku is the one in charge of accounting, after all. Inoichi doesn’t have the same knack for numbers.

The Flowering Forest was a dream Inoichi had since he was seven, and Shikaku was bullied into making it happen and actually getting it off the ground. Now that they’re both about thirty-nine to forty with their birthdays accounted for, the shop has been open for about fifteen years now. Inoichi grows the plants, coaxing them into blooming their very best while Shikaku made sure they didn’t go bankrupt. It’s a good job, with their respective children helping out when necessary. Ino has the same green thumb her father has, and Shikamaru refuses to help plant and grow due to the fact that he has the very opposite of a green thumb, but he’s the best at figuring out colors and what flowers would look best in an arrangement.

Shikaku yawns as he leans against the counter, eyes half lidded as he watches over the product of his friend’s ambition. It isn’t what he’d been expecting to do with his life—both Inoichi and him were the heirs of very wealthy families—but even with the fact that they had to deal with that business on the side, he liked it. He had been expected, with his IQ, to go into military intelligence or get several doctorates and become a world renowned scientist. Shikaku has zero interest in those kinds of things—far too troublesome—but he knows that if Inoichi hadn’t declared to him as they played in the garden of Inoichi’s manor, that he wanted to own a shop, he would likely be doing just that.

He’d be miserable, Shikaku is well aware, and so he doesn’t grumble too much when Inoichi asks him to take care of the shop for him.

It’s almost four when the door opens once again, the little bell ringing across the shop. Shikaku sits up but doesn’t smile because he’s been reliably informed that his customer-service smile is creepy, and watches as a man with blond hair walks across the floor, stopping at every other row to tilt his head and touch the petals.

Blue eyes, wild hair, with a dress shirt that has its sleeves rolled up to his elbows and slacks. Surprisingly, even though the fact that his hair looked like he hadn’t brushed it when he rolled out of bed, it worked for him. Shikaku was vaguely resentful of this fact, as if he didn’t put his hair up he would look like a golem.

Still. This man is a potential customer, and so Shikaku clears his throat to get his attention. “Welcome to The Flowering Forest,” he drawls, tapping his nails against the marble of the counter. The man blinks before laughing sheepishly, hurrying up to the register.

“Hi,” he says with a smile. “I’m Minato. Namikaze Minato, I run the tattoo shop on the corner.”

Shikaku makes a sound of acknowledgment. “The Hiraishin?” he asks, as though to make sure. He doesn't need to since he memorized the entire city out of boredom one Sunday. But people tend to take comfort in the recognition but need for reassurance. Shikaku doesn’t understand why, but then again he’s never understood most people. It’s why he and his fiancee broke up.

Minato brightens. “Yep,” he says happily. “My son Naruto goes to the middle school in the district. He recommended this place for my new design.”

Shikaku hums. “Naruto? I know the name. One of my son’s new friends.”

“Shikamaru?” Minato says with a knowing grin. “Naruto told me, and I quote, that Shikamaru knows a lot of flowers and so his dad must.”

Shikaku’s lips twitch. “He’d be right on that,” he agrees. “What design are you going for?”

Minato’s eyes glitter in a way that’s unfortunately rather distracting. “A bouquet of fuck you.”

Shikaku barks out a laugh; out of all the possible responses he’d expected he hadn’t  _ that. _ “Is that so?” he asks, placing his chin on his palm. Minato is  _ interesting _ in a way anyone rarely is, and he’s reluctant to let the conversation end. “And how do you expect to do that?”

“Well, that’s what I came here for. Know any flower language?” Minato glances around before looking at him again, and Shikaku does not miss the way his eyes linger on his arms and lips. “I personally want it to have a small banner with the words fuck you underneath, but designs are always tricky. People are hard to predict, so I change my designs like ten times before I offer them.”

Shikaku raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’m hoping I won’t have to do that this time.” Minato rocks back on his heels, hands in his pockets. “Care to make that a reality?”

Shikaku narrows his eyes. That was a challenge, plain and simple, and for all that the Naras are lazy and unmotivated most of the time, if there’s one thing they can never turn down, it’s a challenge.

“Alright,” Shikaku murmurs, then twists and calls out: “Shikamaru! Get out here! I need to help a customer!” When all he gets is a tired and thoroughly resistant groan, he says again, “Shikamaru, I know where you keep your love letters to Kiba; if you don’t want me going to Tsume after work then you’ll get out here.”

A thump and scrambled footsteps, and Shikaku flounces out from behind the counter as the door to the backroom slams open. Shikamaru glares at him, cheeks red and chest heaving.

“Dad,” he hisses. “You said you wouldn’t say anything—”

“You’re planning to invite him to the movies next month,” Shikaku interrupts. “Which movie? A Dog’s Purpose Two?”

Shikamaru snarls at him but sits down at the stool nonetheless. Having won, Shikaku turns back to Minato with a curl of satisfaction in his stomach. His son is stubborn as a mule at the best of times and more clever than the majority of the world’s population, so Shikaku counts his victories as they come. Minato’s biting his lip, shoulders shaking as he tries to suppress his laughter, and Shikaku patted him on the back before stepping forward.

“Let's go see our selection,” he says and casts his eyes about the store before making his way to the middle. He snatches a small pot of small yellow flowers and shoves it at Minato. “Wild Tansy, means I declare war against you and all you stand for.” He glares at the selection of parasitic plants in the corner before stalking over and grabbing a golden plant. “Dodder, it means meanness.” He waves Minato to follow him and then snatches up another pot of yellow flowers, this time with four big petals and stamen reaching out, picking up another pot of yellow flowers, only this time its larger, with five petals instead of four.

He turns to Minato, smiling faintly. “St John’s Wort and Pumpkin Flower. First one means animostiy and the second means crudeness.”

Minato eyes the flowers. “Lot of yellow, yeah?”

Shikaku shrugs. “I’m not the one who came up with the flower language. The people seemed like yellow.”

“I suppose so. But my arms are getting kinda full can we—”

Shikaku’s two steps ahead, already grabbing one of the rarely used shopping baskets and grabbing basil on the way back. “Put them in here,” he says, and then adds: “Basil means hatred, by the way.”

Minato stares at the little plant for a long moment before wrinkling his nose. “So I’ve been telling my son I hate him?” he asks, adding the basil regardless of the doubt in his voice. Shikaku doesn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes. Honestly.

“No,” he says on the tail end of a sigh. “It’s just when the plant is gifted. Although, I wouldn’t put it past some parents to do that out of petty revenge when frustrated with their child.”

“That sounds like you,” Shikamaru says drily from the register, barely looking up from the screen of his phone as his thumbs fly.

“Shut up,” Shikaku replies, mostly because Shikamaru is completely correct but he doesn’t want it to be public knowledge. “Just for that we’re having deer jerky.”

Shikamaru jerks, a horrified expression on his face. “What? Dad,  _ no, _ the deer have nothing nothing to deserve that—”

“In any case, you definitely need some Red Anemone,” he says, completely ignoring his son’s words. “And Fragrant Coltsfoot.”

“Oh?” Minato asks, looking amused. “Why?”

“Red Anemone means illness or poison,” Shikaku tells him, throwing some into the basket. It’s a small flower, with a dark pistil in the center. A rather pretty flower with a morbid meaning. One of Shikaku’s favorites. “And Fragrant Coltsfoot means you’ll get what you deserve.”

“That looks like a dandelion,” Minato tells him. Shikaku looks down at the flowers in his hand and blinks.

“Yes, I suppose it does,” he mutters. “But it means something very vicious.”

“That it does,” Minato says, and put it in the basket. “Anything else?”

“Privet,” Shikamaru calls. “It means stay away.” He frowns. “But we don’t have any. We were lucky enough to have all of those.”

Minato shrugs, making his way up to the counter. “I can work with it. Or rather,  _ you _ can work with it. Since you’re making the bouquet.”

Shikamaru huffs but begins to do so regardless, snipping and arranging however he sees fit. It’s a lot of yellow but Shikaku doesn’t doubt his son will make it work. He has an eye for that kind of thing. Ino envies him a lot for it.

Shikaku takes the opportunity to learn more about their customer now that he’s not the one on active duty.

“If you’re a tattoo artist,” he begins. “Then why can’t I see any tattoos?”

Minato blinks at him, then laughs. It’s a nice sound. “Oh, they’re all hidden. Most professions don’t want tattoos. But i have some on my chest and upper arms. I had a friend do my back.”

Shikaku’s eyes glitter. “Can I see them?”

Minato is very attractive, after all, and due to raising Shikamaru and running the shop he’s been in a dry spell that’s lasted almost twelve years now. His hand and toys just don’t do it for him anymore, not really.

Minato meets his gaze, a smirk curling around his lips. “I don’t see why not,” he says loftly “But you’ll have to buy me dinner first.” He rests a hand on Shikaku’s shoulder. “I think that if I left Naruto with Shikamaru then things will be fine.”

Shikamaru is very responsible as long as it doesn’t pertain to Kiba. His son is prone to doing rather foolish things in an attempt to impress his crush. Example one being winning the science fair using the psychology and biology of dogs.

It was stupid but Kiba had been ecstatic, cheering and laughing and generally being loud, and Shikamaru had all but  _ glowed _ so Shikaku supposes it wasn’t so stupid after all.

Emotions are confusing. Infatuation is much easier, he thinks, and smiles.

“The new restaurant on Tuesday?” he offers, and Minato nods, snatching a sharpie up from the jar by the register.

“Pick me up at six,” he says, scrawling a phone number onto the back of Shikaku’s hand. “Text me.”

Shikamary makes a groan of absolute disgust, staring at them in horror. The bouquet is complete and it looks beautiful, although it would be nice with some Privet, and it’s in one of those plastic vases they hand out every time with a big bouquet.

“Dad, oh my god.” He shoves the vase at Minato. “That’s  _ Naruto’s dad _ you know that right?” he says. “Dad, that is so gross. Stop it.”

“I can’t get a date?” Shikaku protests, and Shikamaru gives him a withering look.

“Not when it’s one of my friend’s parents. Also, it’s weird to see you flirting. Seriously, you make fun of me when your flirting is horrible. How are we related.”

“Your version of flirting is stumbling over your words,” Shikaku retorts. “Shut up.”

“That will be thirty five dollars,” Shikamaru tells Minato. “And ignore my dad, he’s terrible. I’m giving you a discount as a bribe. Stay away.”

“I don’t think I will,” Minato says, and hands over two twenties before waving and leaving.

Shikamaru growls, slams the money onto the counter, and stomps into the backroom. Shikaku looks at the number on his hand and memorizes it.

He has a feeling that this will work out just fine. He generally has a good feeling about these things.

He smiles and puts the twenties in the register. Tuesday is only two days away. He’s sure he can wait that long.


End file.
